Scars
by Soimcoolwithlife
Summary: When Connor is shot, he tries to escape worried looks from his friends, but not all secrets stay hidden. Warning:abuse in here and a bit of cursing. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

It started when a crazy guy with a gun came into the ER. And in perspective, yes. He did realize a bullet was ripping through his shoulder, and he was aware that it probably missed his lungs and arteries. But no, he didn't feel it. Well, he felt it, but it didn't bother him. It didn't _hurt._ Really, nothing _hurt_ anymore.

His pain tolerance had gotten so high, the moment the guy pressed the gun into someone's back and fired a shot was the moment he realized that it still didn't hurt to run, or kick the guy in the ankles, grab his gun and crush it with his boot, and put intense amounts of pressure on the shooter's neck until the guy blacked out. And then he found out it didn't hurt when he ripped off his already tattered and bloody shirt ( that had a wonderful logo of Chicago med with his name on it) an pressed it on the gunshot victim's gaping wound. He really didn't notice anything but the situation until he glanced down.

Shit.

He was wearing a very thin, light grey t-shirt that unfortunately did nothing to cover his scars. Nothing at all. And then, he felt relived. Yes, there were many people in the E.R, but no one was focusing on him.

So,when Choi takes the gurney away, rushing the girl for temporary stiches and an emergency x-ray, he realizes he has gotten up and retrieved his shirt, now wet with blood.

He also realizes that the police are asking him how to wake up the guy who had the gun so they could question him.

He asked a nurse if she could give the guy an anti-sedative and some morphine, and soon the guy was sitting up and conversing with Dr. Charles.

That's when he realizes he is not only dizzy, but exposed to his colleagues, since he's just wearing his shirt, which was now a mess of red, with hardly any gray left. So, he picks up a suture kit and nearly collapses into a trauma room.

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He knows that unfortunately, he remembers what it feels like to be a victim in this situation.

He closes his eyes to detect where the bullet went, and realizes there is a sharp pain around his collarbone.

And, there is no exit wound.

Shit, he thinks again.

He realizes that he should really ask for some help, because he needs an x-ray before he blacks out from blood loss.

He knows he needs to focus, because he needs to fix himself before questions are asked, and so he can help people.

But soon, the blackouts come. He's familiar with this part of the process. Apparently, it's rare. He is aware of his surroundings vividly. But he can't see them. He can just hear them. All he sees is his past floating towards him, and he can almost hear his parent's voices.

And then he knows he really really needs help, because the next part would be terrible.

But suddenly Will and Natalie rush in, looking desperate.

He realizes he can't breathe, and he isn't really sure if that's from the flashback or the wound.

And when he wonders why they are both standing, looking at his shoulder with shock, he looks down.

A perfect row of small, neat stitches now have residence on his collarbone, the bloody bullet and some tweezers are sitting on a tray, and the package of a permanent artery clip is discarded next to it.

And then there's the blood.

There is a scary amount of blood pooled on the metal tray, as if he leaned over the tray when he was getting the bullet out. Then, there was a crazy amount of blood soaking both a towel and his shirt, which had lost all trace of grey.

He faintly realizes he needs blood, but honestly, he feels better than he should.

Will and Nat looked shocked. Will shook his head as if to clear his mind.

"Oh shit. Um...Damn. Oh god. Right, okay, right." Will mumbled.

" Morphine?" Will choked out.

"What?" Connor asked, a bit confused.

"You need some..." Will clarifys.

Connor frowns as he shakes himself from a daze.

" I'm allergic," he states, the words coming easily as the situation starts to look like the others he has been in.

Then he realizes Will is staring at him with horrid fascination, as is Nat.

"What?.." He manages to say to them.

"You just...You just cut open your shoulder, extracted a bullet from the collarbone, and clamped your own artery, and stitched yourself up, without morphine," Nat says, looking slightly nauseous.

But he can see that's not all she's looking at. His scars are prominent, and the blood loss has only made them stand out more on his now extremely pale skin. He sees Will scanning him, as if to see where the injuries came from.

Will holds out a hoodie that Connor vaguely remembers putting in his locker.

He manages to put it on without ripping his stitches, but he's had a lot of practice. He somehow manages to get up from where he is seated, but before he can leave, he is intercepted by Will's comment.

"Where did you get those scars?"


	2. Chapter 2

**An: quick update, hope you like, though it's kind of short. I'm starting a new story to, but I will finish this, pls review, if anyone has suggestions for stories i would love to hear them, and send even the most underdeveloped requests, because I would love that. I don't own Chicago med. thanx!**

He should have left earlier. Will wouldn't of had time to ask questions then. But really, he doesn't have any obligations to explain anything. He really doesn't want to either. Because honestly, it's none of their damn business.

He knows he froze when Will asked him the question, so he just takes a breath.

"It's not important."

"Yes it is. Those could be affecting the damage of your wound. The bone breaks could have calcified and the bullet could have richoched, it could be life threatening," Will points out, ready to jump in and pull Connor to x-ray.

"And, it could have done major damage to your organs," Nat adds,trying to disguise her frustration at Will. It wasn't the best time to ask Connor questions.

"Well, it didn't," Connor states firmly.

"You don't know that!" Will exclaims, frustrated.

"Yes I do. Thank you for the concern, but I have a surgery to perform," he states as his pager goes off, almost pissed off at Will and Natalie.

"You can't do a surgery like this!" Nat exclaimed.

But Connor was already gone.

chicagomedchicagomedchicagomedyesthisisalinebreakbearwithme

Connor had showed up in the OR, hastily scrubbed up and ready for work. He had a killer headache because of the blood loss, and he could hardly move his arm. Somehow, he drew himself out of the pain and operated by himself, since the attending trauma surgeon was on break.

He could really only use one arm, since his shoulder was almost immobile. A trauma surgeon with only one hand, and if he got through this, it would be a great story to tell.

He was trying to brace himself for the inevitable call to Ms. Goodwin's office. Sure enough, not 10 minutes after he finished the surgery, his pager went off.

As he made his way to the office, he wondered what she was going to say. Was he banned from surgeries? Would she demand an x-ray? Would he see his scars, only covered by a gray hoodie, and ask questions? Or was she just asking how he was doing?

He assumed it wasn't the latter.

He was right.

Will was standing next to Goodwin, looking livid. Goodwin herself looked frustrated. He honestly hoped they weren't to mad at him, because he did not want to withstand their fury.

From a long and terrible silent 5 minutes, he deducted that Will had told Goodwin about his scars, his injury, his self operation, and how he just completed a surgery.

"You have some explaining to do, Dr. Rhodes."

"Not really," he bit back, knowing he wasn't be the most considerate.

"Dr. Halstead, please bring Dr. Rhodes's x-ray films and medical history back when you get them."

" You can't do that!" Conor exclaimed. He built up a facade, and it was perfect. He didn't need a few films and pieces of paper to ruin the life he tried so hard to build.

"And Dr. Halstead, if you need to drag him to x-ray, or threaten him with his medical file history, by all means do it. You can't hide everything Dr. Rhodes, and as much as we hate to do this, we need to get to the bottom of the problem, since I don't see any mention of past injuries listed on your resume."

And with that, Goodwin sent an apologetic look to Connor, who looked beyond angry. Then she left the two feuding doctors alone.

The only sound in the room was the shutting of the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey! I try to post every other day btw! I really hope you enjoy. Please leave a review, and in there, please pls pls leave a new story idea! You can be incredibly specific or totally not, just leave an idea there! I don't own Chicago med, enjoy!**

Connor sat glaring at Will. Will just looked determined.

"Are you going to make this easy?" Will says after a few minutes.

Connor just glares at him. Will gets up and glares right back. He says,

"You are going to have to do this eventually, might as well hurry up."

And that's when Connor knows that unless he wants to move to Riyadh again, he is going to have to work with everyone on this.

"How much..." he asks, referring to how much of his body Will is going to x-ray.

"Just your torso, for now," Will says, understanding exactly what he means.

"Fine then, just get it over with."

And with that, Will leads Connor, who looks slightly nervous, down to x-ray

thisisalinebreakrightheresoooooooooooooooooooo

Down in x-ray, Will has him lie down in the machine, shirtless. Of course, it's not like he has a shirt, because all he was wearing was a hoodie over his bare skin.

He feels uncomfortable underneath the machine, and soon Will has taken the x-rays, and just needs to develop them.

All of this is done in silence, with not a word between them but a "thanks". He gets up and goes over to where Will is standing, waiting for the pictures to show up on the screen. Will silently gives Connor back his hoodie, which he pulls over himself, feeling the twinge of his injured shoulder.

Suddenly, Will stops and just looks at Connor.

"I know that we aren't the best of friends. But your wellbeing is the concern of everyone here at the hospital. So, before I even look at these x-rays, before I even glance at them...do you want to tell me how you got those scars first?" Will's voice is gentle but firm.

Connor just stares straight back at Will.

"Connor?" Will asks again.

And that's when he breaks. Completely shatters right there. But he doesn't want to show him just how broken he is, so he lets his facade drop the tiniest bit.

"I...just look at the x-rays," he says finally, not giving in so much as to tell Will exactly how he got those scars.

Will just stares at him. Then he states,

"No."

"What?"

"No. I'm not going to look at the x-rays yet. I'm going to print your medical history, you're going to take a painkiller, and we are going to discuss this in Ms. Goodwin's office."

And before he can say a word, Will gives him a syringe of morphine, full.

"I'm allergic," he states, softly, knowing that he really has no choice.

"You weren't joking?" At Connor's no, Will frowns.

" What are your symptoms of allergic reaction?" Will asks, in full doctor mode.

"I have...flashbacks, trouble breathing, nothing fatal though," he said, resigned to his fate of telling everyone about everything.

Will nodded, an unreadable expression on his face. He takes the syringe back and slips it in his pocket.

"Last chance to tell me," he said, turning to the computer to print Connor's medical files.

When he was met with silence, Will just sighed.

"Let's go back to Goodwin's office," Will said kindly. He knew it took a lot from Connor to tell him even the tiniest bit of information.

"Yeah."

linebreaklinebreakheresosorry

 _No ones pov. In mrs goodwins office now. Connor and Will aren't back._

"Why did Will page us to come here?" asked Natalie.

"I really don't know, but Goodwin didn't exactly look thrilled," Ethan replied simply, leaning back into the hard plastic of a spare chair he pulled up.

Seeing the upset look on Natalie's face, Dr. Charles said quickly,

"Whatever it is, it's probably nothing."

Natalie just rolled her eyes. Being nervous made her very sassy, Dr. Charles noted.

Suddenly, the door opened. All eyes looked up to see whoever entered, but it was only Ms. Goodwin.

"You're probably wondering why you're all here. A situation today brought up some questions, and by law, I'm obliged to give you answers. I don't want to do this, and I'm sure none of you want to hear this. The person in question didn't want to give this information out, but by state regulations we have to."

The looks of faces in the room ranged from concern to confusion.

Then, the door opened again. This time, it was Connor, who still was just wearing black jeans, and a hoodie to cover his torso. Will followed right after, a folder clutched tightly in his hand.

Connor looked uncomfortable and nervous, but so did Will. Will pulled out a syringe from his pocket and handed it to Connor.

"Wait! I thought you were allergic?" Nat said, slightly confused but looking worried.

"I am, but the reaction isn't bad. But no thanks," he said to Natalie and Will, while the other occupants of the room just stared at the scene.

Will looked displeased at Connor's refusal to take the morphine.

"Just take it."

"No thanks."

"Why not?"

"I...really don't like the side effects."

At the glare everyone gave him, he gingerly took the syringe from Will's outstretched hand and plunged it deep into his own arm, pressing the trigger to let the medicine flow through his body. Everyone grimaced.

"Let's get this over with."


	4. Chapter 4

**An: I am so sorry that I didn't update! This is really long for me, and I hope it's good. This is the last chapter. I want to start a new med story... any ideas? Any at all for a story involving hurt/sick/abused/emotional/sassy/upset/happy Rhodes? Actually anything... But I will write more very very soon. I hope I didn't get any details of flashbacks wrong. I dont know if morphine can actually do this, but it's not that essential to the story. Enjoy!**

The second the morphine entered his body, the pain dulled. His shoulder no longer felt on fire, but since the pain was below his tolerance before, this didn't make much of a difference. The next thing he noticed was that within a few seconds, his chest felt heavy. His breaths became more laborious, but not impossible. He knew the inevitable flashbacks could happen anytime, but as long as he wasn't triggered, he'd be fine.

"Now, I understand this is difficult for you, Dr. Rhodes, but we have to share this information with your colleagues," Ms. Goodwin stated remorsefully.

"I understand."

"Good. Let's begin."

Ms. Goodwin flipped open the Manila folder containing his medical information and his newest x-rays. If she was shocked, she didn't show it. However, if the way Dr. Charles was raising his eyebrows as he looked discretely over her shoulder was anything to go by, the records were, well, records of everything that had ever happened.

Which happened to be a lot.

Ms. Goodwin looked up.

"Well, Dr. Rhodes. It seems you have been here many times."

Yes, he remembers being wheeled into the ER a few times, but most of the time he would fix himself up at home. The itchy fabric of his hoodie skimmed his torso, and again, he wished he had a shirt. His breath still felt forced, like he had to consciously had to tell himself to breathe.

"Well, at age 4, you were brought in with serious burns across your chest. At age 5, you were brought in because of a stab wound, and there it was suspected that you had been beaten before. At age 7, you came in with obvious signs of physical abuse, self mutilation and loss of lung function. You were kept from your family until your father bought you back and kept it a secret. At age 9 you had to be transported by fire truck when you were in a minor building collapse, but suffered penetrating wounds to the lungs and abdomen. At the hospital, it was again suspected that you were abused, and they performed a routine medical exam. They noticed sever burns, old breaks, scarring, and it seemed you had given yourself stitches. They held you for observation, but the media didn't get a word."

Connor heard her say years 10-13 without much thought, but suddenly, he knew that it was about to go downhill.

"At age 14...you were brought in 5 times for...attempted suicide. At age 15, you were brought in for cardiac arrest from a stab wound in the abdomen and femoral artery, which looked like murder."

That's when he tenses. His fellow doctors looked shocked at the plethora of information they just received. But he felt numb.

Suicides...

 _Breathe in._

Stab wounds...

 _Breathe out._

Murder victim...

 _Breathe in._

Self surgery...

 _Breathe out._

And suddenly it's over.

"Can I go?" He asks softly. He doesn't want to hear it anymore. Ms. Goodwin nods ever so slightly. He leaves for the break room.

 **CM**

He feels himself failing. His whole body seems to work only by command. At least only 5 people knew. That's all. Maggie probably knew. Maggie knew everything.

His thoughts felt like they were jerking him along. Being aware of his surroundings was not a priority, and he felt like he didn't want to know what went on around him.

But the shocked looked on his colleagues faces were crystal clear in his brain.

 _Colleagues? Or friends?_

 _Somewhere in between._

In this way, he felt himself drifting.

And suddenly there is a hand on his shoulder, just so.

Just like the way his dad would put his hand on his shoulder.

When he was bad.

 _"You haven't been good."_

 _"I'm very sorry."_

 _"That is not an excuse."_

 _Cornelious Rhodes put his hand on his son's shoulder. Connor trembled in anticipation of the punishment. His father led him out to the alley like usual._

 _He was waiting. The man, who always dressed in black, with the knives and the flames and the fists seemingly made of iron._

 _The man, who could be bought for money to torture him._

 _He felt nothing but the blows reigning down on him as his father called out taunts on the side. He never physically him him. Never._

 _But Connor wanted him to. He wanted his father to be the one to stab him, not this guy. His fathers eyes would look at him in hate, but his blood would be on his father's hands._

 _He would be worthy of being hurt. His father would hurt him and he wouldn't be such a disgrace to him._

 _And that night, not for the first time, he would drag his knife over his wrists as he stitched himself up, cut himself open, and applied gauze to his wounds. The blood would pour over him, and he would wash it away in the shower. He could feel the blood sliding down his wrists after all he is done._

 _It's he who killed his mother, he knows that._

 _He was screaming to loud when they stabbed him 4 times at once._

 _His mother ran out to the screams and saw him being tortured._

 _2 day later he was walking home from school and saw his mother jump of the roof, saw her land, saw the blood at pooled from her dark hair._

 _Heard her whisper that she should have done better._

 _Claire was only 3. She didn't remember anything about her mother. But Connor did._

 _He remembered the way her eyes twinkled when she laughed. He remembered the happy smile that would spread across her face when she was happy. He remembered the stories she would tell softly and slowly._

 _But he also remembered the drugs, the pills that came in orange bottles by the day. He remmebered the fights, where she would scream so loudly at his father that he would cover his ears. He remembers the alcohol, that she would sometimes drink bottles of._

 _He remembers how unhappy she was, and how happy she looked as she fell._

 _As the media swarmed to get a picture, as the ambulance drove away, as everyone knew she was dead, he was punished._

 _Years later, it was all to much. So he cut deeper and deeper, the blades slicing through his wrists at a fast speed, the blood pouring out on the pristine white tiles of the floor._

 _He didn't staunch the blood today._

 _But Claire. Claire would grow up without him. It would be better that way. He knew that, he wanted that._

 _His blood was dark, inky red and thick, gushing from his wrists. His energy was almost gone._

 _Really, his whole life was a nightmare._

 _Maybe this was just waking up._

 _And as he bled out, not for the last time, he wanted it to be over._

 _The second time he left a note. He placed it on his desk as he stabbed himself in the heart._

 _The third time he left a picture, a polaroid of him laughing._

 _The fourth time he just didn't think about it._

 _The fifth time he left a note, a picture, an audio recording, and a gun._

 _That's when he ended up in a coma._

 _He never went to med for suicide again._

 _He would fix himself up at home, or his father would pay someone to fix him._

 _He was a bad boy._

 _He believed it._

 _Over and over, the blows would reign down, over and over._

 _And it always started with his father's hand on his shoulder._

 **CM**

Will's p.o.v

Putting his hand on Connor's shoulder was, in retrospective, a terrible idea.

He found Connor in the break room, looking a bit lost.

Honestly, he wasn't doing the best either. The information shared was pretty graphic, and it led to the conclusion:

Cornelious Rhodes was a fucking asshole.

Seriously, Connor was a hero.

But yeah, it was a terrible idea to put his hand on Connor's shoulder.

Connor immediately tensed. His breath, which had been strained before, hitched.

His eyes became blank. His whole body became tense. He then realized his friend was having a ptsd flashback.

Shit.

It lasted about 3 minutes before Connor started fading back to the present. That's when the panic attack started.

Suddenly his breath seemed to diminish to tiny gasps.

"Whoa! whoa! Come on Connor! Breathe man!" He yelled at his hyperventilating colleague.

He went into doctor mode, putting Connor's hand firmly on his chest as he took deep breaths.

Soon, Connor was breathing normally. His eyes still looked panicked, but he sounded fine.

"God I hate morphine," Connor weakly gasped out.

"Never giving you that again."

 **CM.**

Will's p.o.v.

As the drugs started to fade from Connor's body, Will realized just how tired Connor was.

"Is your shoulder hurting?"

"Not bad. It's fine."

"Why don't you sleep?" Will asked cautiously. Connor just groaned.

Soon his eyes were closed.

Will couldn't help think about how peaceful he looked when he was sleeping.

He looked quiet, not happy, but not worried.

Nightmares would haunt him, but now, he looked serene.

So maybe it was for the best that Connor Rhodes had people to lean on.

People who had seen his scars.

People who cared about him.

For the first time in his life, Connor Rhodes had a family.


End file.
